


I'll Love You (Till the Day that I Die)

by Shaderose



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, And all angst, And hes dying, Angst, Character Death, Everyones super sad, Happy Halloween, Harley gets bit by a zombie, He shoots himself to make sure he doesnt become a zombie, Heavy Angst, M/M, Peter especially, RIP me, Sad Peter Parker, Suicide, This is sad folks, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 17:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21256718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaderose/pseuds/Shaderose
Summary: Peter, Harley, Ned, MJ and Betty are all surviving the zombie apocalypse. Then Harley gets bit.--Excerpt (because I suck at summaries):"The others did as she said, jumping into the old truck, worn down with rust and dirt from years and years of overuse (the thing was old when the apocalypse started, much less now) and Harley was about to as well, but he hesitated. Movement caught his eye from behind the truck, and it caused him to slow, his curiosity beating out every other instinct in his body. A moment too late, he realized his first mistake. He should have sped up.One moment, he's about to open the side door of the truck, and the next, his body is crashing to the ground, a dead weight jumping on top of him, knocking his rifle to the ground."--Read the tags!!!





	I'll Love You (Till the Day that I Die)

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be based off of The Zombie Song by Stephanie Mabey.  
This was supposed to be fluffy, and cute.
> 
> I don't how what happened. I've been on an angst train lately. I don't know how to get off. Please send help lol
> 
> Buuut Happy Halloween!!  
If you go out trick or treating, be safe! I love you all :)
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> Also I wrote this in a day and a half, and I wrote it very quickly so if it isn't the best or if it's rambly, I'm sorry

"Get up, _get up!_" A voice hissed into his ear, shaking his shoulders harshly, and Harley jerks awake, instinctually grabbing at the pistol placed next to his head and cocking it, staring into his boyfriends wide brown eyes with his own.

"I'm up, how many?"

"5 or so, crawlers, on their way up now. Ned's distracting them, but I don't know how long it'll last."

"_Shit!_" He shoots out of bed, running towards the storage closet and placing his pistol down on to the counter, opening it and grabbing his much more efficient, much more effective rifle. He checks to see if it's loaded, it is, it always is, before booking it to a window. "Start packing, just in case!"

He remembers a time when Peter would complain, whine, ask _why_ they had to move again when they _just got here_. Then, Tony got bit. Died. Came back as one of those creatures, went after the boy, and almost got him too, before Peter had to shoot him in the head and kill him for good. He doesn't bother complaining anymore, just scrambling together all of their belongings as quickly as possible, everything of importance anyways. Food, water, whatever it may be.

Harley opens the window with a loud creek, loud enough to surely attract some of the attention of the things, and sticks the barrel out of the cavity, closes one eye, takes a deep breath, and fires, causing one of the crawlers to fall off of the wall and splatter on to the ground. Harley's face scrunches up at the sound. Gross.

He sees Neds distraction now, he's holding an old flare in his hand, lit up, attracting the beasts like moths to a flame. His friend and ally is also holding them off fairly well with the other hand, firing off his handgun whenever they got a little too close. Harley swears again as he sees more incoming in the distance, apparently having also seen tbe light and smoke from the lit flare. Harley shoots a few more to keep them at bay before retreating from his post and grabbing the closest full bag to him. "There's more incoming, too many, we gotta move."

Peter grimances, a pained look in his eye, they had liked this place, had stayed longer than normal, but complies, grabbing the rest of the supplies and rushing out of the room, Harley in a hot pursuit. MJ and Betty are already awake and ready, having packed the rest of their essentials, Ned must have warned them before heading out as the distraction. Peter helps them suit up to move out as Harley makes his way up to the roof, an open, gaping hole giving him access.

He sees the man struggling, kicking and hitting the creatures, these infected _people _over the head with the butt of his gun, he must have run out of ammo, as they try to claw and scratch their way up to him. Harley fires at the closest one to Ned, the bullet going straight through its head and causing its body to go limp, right beside Neds foot. He looks over to Harley with wide eyes as Harley calls out "We're leaving, it's not safe."

He nods once, kicking at a few more carefully, careful not to get bit, not to get scratched, before throwing the flare in the opposite direction, off of the room, and rushing over to Harley, out of breath from the adrenaline. "Lets go."

They make their way back down into the house, seeing Peter waiting there for them, pacing to release some of his nervous energy, MJ and Betty noticeably absent. "I told them to get to the truck," He gives as an explainion, "to get everything ready so we could go." The two nod, and all of them make their way down as quick as possible. Harley can already hear the gurgling and groans from outside, getting closer and closer. Peter could probably hear them for miles. He didn't envy his superpowers anymore. When they were younger, maybe, but not any more.

As they reach the garage, they see that the two women are already ready to go, with all of the luggage shoved in the back, guns and ammo in the backseat while food, water, rations were in the trunk, safer and more protected.

"They're getting closer, get in." MJ's no bullshit tone has never changed from since she was a teen, and now was no different, her tone sharp, focused, only with time could Harley tell it meant she was worried, fearful.

The others did as she said, jumping into the old truck, worn down with rust and dirty from years and years of overuse (the thing was old when the apocalypse started, much less now) and Harley was about to as well, but he hesitated. Movement caught his eye from behind the truck, and it caused him to slow, his curiosity beating out every other instinct in his body. A moment too late, he realized his first mistake. He should have sped up.

One moment, he's about to open the side door of the truck, and the next, his body is crashing to the ground, a dead weight jumping on top of him, knocking his rifle to the ground. A scream of his name rings through the air as the body beginning wriggling around, trying to claw and scratch and rip open his skin to eat it, big beady soulless eyes popping out of their sockets as the zombie gurgles and struggles. Harleys holds it back, kicking at his lower torso, grabbing at it's arms, trying to get it off of him, but its another mistake he realizes too late, barely having enough time to comprehend what was happening, much less pull his arms away in time. Sharp, broken teeth dig into the flesh in his arm, and the infection burns as it seeps into his blood stream, he screams, but he isnt sure if it's from pain, or fear, or something else, janking his arm back too late, too _late_-

A gunshot echoes in the small space, and everything goes quiet. Everything stops, except for Harley's heartbeat, beating beating beating (not for long, not anymore), the blood rushing in his ears, rushing rushing rushing (it'll be poisoned, slow, sluggish, _infected_), his body shaking from the rush of adrenaline, trembling, (broken, missing, patchy, ruined), and his thoughts racing at a mile a minute (bit, bit, infected, you're going to become one of them, one of _them_, Peter, oh Peter-). The Zombie lays dead on his chest, and it feels like hours pass, even though its only been seconds, the gunpowder still in the air, before he pushes it over with more force than necessary, hissing as the bite (bite, bite, bite) _burns_ like pure molton lava directly from its source as he stands on shaky legs, jumps into the truck, ignores the fear in all of his friends eyes and says "Go!"

"Harley-" He doesn't know who said it, and he doesn't really care.

"_GO!_" He screams it this time, and they listen, Betty hitting on the petal and the truck screeches out of the lot, racing down the pathway that used to be a road, but is more potholes and cracks now than anything.

It's silent for a long, long time, nobody daring to break the fragile fabric of comfort, the temporary pause on their reality in which they stumbled upon. Nobody wants to admit the truth, nobody wants to bare it, even as Harley rips off a part of his shirt to wrap around the aching wound, even as it bleeds all over his arm, his hand, his pants, the cloth turning a bright red rapidly, even as Harley flinches and grinds his teeth at every bump, trying, trying so hard not to let out a pained noise and distress his friends any further.

Even as midday turns into dusk, and dusk into night. Even as the sun slips past the horizon, and the sky is ablaze with oranges, reds and purples, turning into a dark blue the farther out it goes. It's beautiful. It's probably the last one Harley's ever going to see, consciously anyways, so he grasps onto it with everything he has and sets it into his memory, even as it fades into oblivion before his very eyes.

They don't utter a word, they don't make a peep until he becomes to dark to drive without headlights, which they had lost within the first month of this living hell, and Betty pulls off of the deserted path, on to another one, pulls up to a seemingly abandoned house, and shuts off the truck. They're silent still for a few moments after that, the silence so much louder now that the hum of the truck is gone.

MJ is the one that finally breaks it, turning around in the passenger seat to stare all of them down. "You know the drill. We go in quietly, stay low, scout out, meet back here when we're done." They all nod, and Harley is about to grab his gun from the bags sat in front of him, to get ready when someone takes it before he can, ripping the bag out of his reach. He glances up, sees that bag in her hand but MJ isn't looking at him, facing and opening the door when she calls behind her "Harley and Peter will stay back to watch over the stuff. Everyone else, stay close."

He knows that not the real reason he's staying behind, but he's thankful for the excuse, the lie, anyways. He's already starting to feel the effects, his body feeling a bit heavier, more sluggish with his movements. What he's not thankful for is Peter staying behind with him.

Peter had been the most quiet of the all during the ride, almost dangerously quiet. He had sat beside Harley the entire time, but he hadn't spoke a word, and even now, he seemed to be barely breathing, wound up tighter than a coil as the others drop out of the truck and slams the doors, making their way out to the house. Harley glances in his direction, trying to read how the other man is feeling, but he can't, his face blank and his eyes staring forward, unseeing, unfocused. There's a little bit red though, the only tell of any kind of emotion, and Harley's heart breaks.

"Pete? I'm-"

"Why?"

Harley flinches at the harshness in Peter's voice, such an awful contrast compared to his usually soft, gentle tone. "Uh- why what?"

That, apparently, was the wrong thing to ask, as Peter explodes as soon as the words are out of his mouth, lashing out, throwing a fist at the headrest of the passenger seat and causing it to bend, spitting venomously, "_Why_ didnt you get in the _damn truck?!?_ You _know_ noises are never a good thing now, you _know_ this, and yet you- you-" He hits the seat again, harder this time, almost breaking the fabric before he shifts around to glare daggers into Harley's soul, a burning heat, a fire in his gaze, almost, _almost_ masking the pure agony hidden behind it. Almost. "God! Did Tony teach you nothing?!? You _run _from zombies, you don't just- just _stand_ there and _l__et them bite you _like a _f__ucking moron!_" His voice, his act is crumbling now, piece by piece, getting thicker and heavier with each word, his breathing getting harsher. Tears well up in his eyes (his beautiful, gorgeous hazelnut eyes, God he wishes he could look into them forever, wishes he could never let them go, let him go), and he's almost choking now, each word barley getting past his lips through his breathing, his sobbing, "And- And now, you're gonna- gonna- and I'm gonna be all- all alone and its- i can't- _God_ I can't _do this again! Please!_"

He completely shatters alongside Harley's heart, collapsing into Harley's chest and practically screeching through his sobs and wails, begging and pleading, pleading, _pleading _Harley not to go, that it can't be true, that he can't lose someone else, _please god don't let it be true, don't take him away from me, please, please_. And Harley just holds him tight and close, ignoring the ache in his limbs, the weakness in his muscles, and presses him as close as physically possible, pushing his face into Peter's curly, unruly locks and trying desperately not to cry, to be strong, to not let Peter see him weak. Not like this, not ever. Never again.

He doesn't want one of Peter's last memories of him to be weakness.

They stay like this for seconds, minutes, hours, days, Peter bawling into his chest, his shoulder, and Harley whispering reassurances that they both know are false. Small 'its alright's and 'itll be okay's. It's not alright. It's not okay. None of this is okay. But Harley lets his murmurs deceive Peter into a restless, fitful slumber, face still scrunched up with pain, red, blotchy and soaked with tears.

He shifts them around so that he's leaning against one of the side door of the truck, the closest one to him, and Peter is curled up to his chest, legs tangled with his own. It reminds him of a faraway time, when they were climbing into Peter's bunk bed together and cuddle, when Peter would stick onto him like glue and head placed under Harley's chin, right above his head, nuzzling into his neck, as Harley would act like an octopus, curling all of his appendages, arms, legs, around the boy protectively. It was warm, cozy, relaxed. Happy.

Only once he knows Peter is in a deep sleep does he let himself go a little, choking out quiet sobs and whimpers, keeping his face pressed into his hair, smelling his signature smell. Even after all these days of barley showering, even all dirtied up, covered in mud and soot and dried up blood, Peter still smells like apples. Apples and cinnamon. Like Christmas, and wonder, and _joy._

Their friends come back after a while, a while of Harley sitting, crying, thinking, _planning_. They tell him it's safe, to get some of his things and bring then inside. "Only for the night though," Ned tells him gently, they all sound gentle, too gentle, when they talk to him now. "We'll have to keep moving in the morning." Another simple lie. One easier to believe, easier to swallow than the harsh pill of reality, settling on top of all of them like a stone, weighing them down as they gather their needs and head into the cold, cold building, Peter cradled in Harley's arms. One night is all he wanted. One more night to be with the love of his life, maybe one more morning if he's lucky. Lucky. Its such a backwards statement now. Lucky to have one more night, one more morning, not lucky enough to survive.

Harley finds a room with a bed that looks like it hasn't been used in eons, dirty, dusty, and the metal backboard is rusted. But it has sheets, and a mattress, and it looks comfy enough. Its the only one in the house, but the others don't complain as he takes it. They can find another house with another bed they can share. Harley will not. He places Peter gently down onto it, pulls the sheets over him, tucks him in, and kisses his forehead once before walking own of the room again. He's losing his strength, and fast, so he knows he has to do this now. Knows he has to talk with them now, before he's bedridden until...

He finds the group in the living room, or what may have used to be a living room, the paint chipping off of the walls and the white carpet turned a murky brown, greens and reds covering it from what could have been vomit, blood and other bodily fluids. The smell of it all doesn't bother any of them anymore.

He taps on the wall one, two, three times to gain their attention, and once he has three sets of eyes on him, their chores stopping for the moment, he speaks hoarsely, sparsely, announcing "I'm going to die tomorrow."

Emotions flicker across all of their faces, Betty's anguish, Ned's sympathy, and MJ's bitterness. "You don't know that, Harley." MJ spits out, seeming fed up with this conversation. But Harley's knows it's just a coping mechanism, a way of not getting hurt.

He just smiles at her. "I do. I'm doing it myself." All of them try to speak up at that, an outcry, but he interupts them softly, and they all quiet. "No, listen to me. I'm not be coming one of those things. I'm _not._ You don't want that, I don't want that and-... And Peter doesn't need that." He goes quiet for a moment, his heart aching, breaking, throat closing up slightly, eyes misting, before he clears his throat and forces himself to continue. "So I'm doing it myself. Tomorrow. I'm going to spend my last- my last morning with my loving boyfriend, I'm going to send him out here, and then you guys are going to leave. No turning back. Got it?"

"Harley..." Betty's voice is low, sad, her eyes pitying, begging.

He wants to, _wishes _he could give her whatever she was begging for, but he knows he can't, so he presses. "_Got it?_"

They all nod solemnly, acceptingly, even though Harley can tell its the last thing they want to do. They dont want to admit that another one of them is leaving, that another one of them is gone. Harley doesn't want to admit it either, even with his brave facade. He swallows the lump in his throat, blinks the tears out of his eyes, and opens his arms. "Now come here, all of you."

They all shuffle over, but Ned is the first in line to hug him tightly, practically squeezing the air out of his lungs. He pats Harley once on the back, whispers an "I love you, man." To which Harley repeats back in earnest before they separate, Ned wiping at his eyes and stepping away, Betty taking his place. Harley and Betty weren't as close, but their hug is still genuine, still kind. She doesn't say anything, just squeezes him once before letting go and stepping back.

And then it's MJs turn. God, _MJ._ MJ was like the second little sister he never had, who had held him and mourned with him when he lost contract with his true sister the second week out, assuming her to be dead. She had comforted him in his days of hardship as the months of this chaotic world went on, and he had done the same to her. She had taken on a leader role of their little group, had saved their asses more times then he can count. There wasn't enough words for what he wanted to say to her, how he wanted to thank her, and she seemed to be in the same boat, grabbing him and pulling him into a harsh embrace, kissing the side of his head and rocking them back and forth, back and forth together, soothing each other like they had so many times in the past. Soothing him one last time. She shutters with a sob, whispering one last faint "I'm gonna miss you, asshole." before pulling away and wiping her face with her sleeve.

He sniffles, a few tears cascading onto his cheeks as he stares at his three friends since high school, his group, his _family_ one last time. He give them a smile, a true, genuine albeit a bit shaky smile, seeing them all attempt a smile back, before he turns around to make his way back to his room. His coffin, waiting to be filled. He pauses, and calls over his shoulder one last time, "Goodnight. Love you."

They all echo it back to him, their voices rough, heavy, and raw, burdened with letting one of their own walk to his own death, with nothing in their power to stop it.

Harley braces against the wall the entire way back to the room, shutting the door, grabbing his pistol from his bag and collapsing into the bed as soon as he makes it there, his body becoming heavier and heavier by the minute. He knows he probably won't make it to midday, might not even make it to sunrise at this rate, but he tries to ignore it as he turns his body over to stare at his sleeping beauty.

Stare at his haphazard chestnut curls, sticking out every which way, matted with dirt and coated with sweat, oil, grease, but Harley finds it beautiful either way. Stares at the definitions of his face, the cut of his jawline and cheekbones, the hallow of his cheeks, the faint freckles scattered across his nose like an entire galaxy was formed just on the surface of Peter's skin, the way his soft, plush, light pink like a Barbie dolls purse lips move and twitch as he breathes. Stare at the curve of his neck and the intrusion of his collarbone, faintly rising and falling with each deep breath. He just stares, stares at this angel send down from the heavens above, beated, bruised and worn down by this sinuous, ruinous world, but still ethereal in his beautiful, in his grace and kindness. In his love. Harley is so, so lucky that he got to experience this person at his side throughout his life, and here now with him as he spends his last moments on his deserted, destroyed planet. He feels such a powerful rush of endorphins and hormones, such heafty, heavy emotions that could only be described as _love_ as he stares at this man he got to call his, and he can only hope that as he sleeps, peaceful, quietly, that Peter knows just how much Harley truly loved him. Loves him. Will never stop loving him, in life and in death.

Harley doesn't sleep that night, doesnt bother to, choosing to admiring the god in front of his own eyes for as long as he gets the chance to, choosing to ignore the way his body heats up into a feverish state as the minutes, hours go by, the way his vision dims, tunnels and the way his senses dull. He ignores it all, focusing on this precious gift life has given him, holding onto it for however many minutes he has left.

Night turns to dawn before Peter opens his eyes, a warm light filtering in through the window, illuminating his figure and gleaming off of his eyes. It makes the dark brown _glow_, tinges of orange and yellow on his irises that Harleys never seen before shining through, that he's so so so thankful to see before he goes. Harley must look worse than he thought, worse than he feels as the haziness, the sleepy innocence in Peter's eyes fades away as soon as it shows, leaving them dull, haunted, and gleaming with tears. Harley shushes him immediately, forcing himself with most of his strength to raise a hand and brush away tbe tears threatening to fall.

"Ah ah ah, none of that." He barely recognizes himself, the hoarse, rugged noise sounding nothing like he used to, not like he did just twenty four hours ago.

Peter's body shutters, breath hicking with silent sobs. "Harles-"

"Shh," he cuts him off, continuing to run at his cheek with his thumb. "You see the sunlight coming through the window? It's an- an orangey color-" He coughs, his throat feeling like sandpaper, rough, coarse, grinding with every syllabol, every vowel, every consonant. "Means it's gonna be nice out. Gonna be a nice morning. So let's just- let's just enjoy the morning, hey? Just you and me?"

"Harley-"

"Please, baby? Please?" He's borderline begging at this point, dropping his shaking hand down to Peter neck once the small movement against his cheek becomes too much.

Peter sobs again, a few tears slipping down his face, but he nods anyways. Harley jerks his shirt collar, and Peter takes the cue, crawling forward and burrowing his face into Harley's chest, shaking and shuttering. Harley's shirt quickly soaks through, but he doesn't care, doesn't mind, running a hand up and down Peter's back soothingly, the other playing with his hair, twirling strands around his throbbing fingers. He closes his eyes, breaths in the scent of apples and cinnamon, and truly relaxes for the first time since this whole thing started. He places himself into a bubble, tells himself they're back at Stark tower, curled up on the couch and watching a movie together. Just like old times. Just like they used to.

Every once in a while, the illusion is broken by the need to cough, growing more and more violent each time, by his wheezing or by Peter's whine and whimpers each time either thing happens, but then he's right back into it, right back with the love of his life on his chest, smiling brightly up at him, eyes wide with hopes, dreams and aspirations, with intelligence, with a future. Right back where nothing could hurt them, where everything was okay.

But then Harley hears the birds start to tweet, singing their melancholy song, and he knows it's over. Knows the group needs to move on before the others get here. Knows Peter has to go with them. Knows he has to stay behind. Knows that it's time.

"Hey, Pete?" He breaks the drawn out silence between them, breaks the illusion, breaks them back into the real world. Peter hums back, runs a finger over his chest like he's always done when they cuddled, as if writing a word or drawing a picture. "Can you do something for me?"

"Of course," Is Peter's firm reply, his voice hoarse from the sobs, "anything."

Harley let's out a long breath, shifting his head and tilting Peter's upwards until their eyes connect. He give Peter a gentle, loving, adoring smile, one only reserved for him, only him, always him. "...I need you to keep living, okay?" Peter's face crumbles, and Harley holds it steady as he continues, quieter than a whisper, "You need to continue on, keep eating, sleeping, surviving. You need to keep going, okay?"

"Harles, I _can't_-"

"You can." Now it's Harley that's being firm, holding steady eye contact (or as steady as he can with his vision swimming), voice strong. "You can, Pete. You're so strong, so so strong." He croaks, throat closing again, eyes blinking away tears again. "And you can't let my death, you can't let _me_ stop you from living, stop you from surviving, okay?" Peter shakes his head, but Harley pushes through. "They need you out there, Pete. They need you, and that big brain of yours to figure out a cure and stop this mess."

"They won't-"

"They _do_ and they _will, _Pete. One day, you and a bunch of other nerds will get together and find a cure for this thing. I know they will. I know _you_ will." He drops his hand again, letting Peter's head fall on to his chest, eyes squeezes shut, sobs wracking his body once more. "So you need to _live_, Peter. _Live. _Survive, yes, but I want you to live too, okay? Enjoy your life, live it to the fullest. If not-" Harley breaks off into a coughing fit, choking up blood, mucus, and whatever else tries to come up. He swallows it back down, gritting his chattering teeth, determined to finish. "If not for yourself, then do it for me. Please, Peter, promise me. Promise me you'll live once I'm gone."

There's a few moments then, of Harley staring intently, desperately at Peter's trembling form, hoping, waiting, before Peter tilts his head back up, face drenched, a small, fragile, broken look in his eyes, on his face as he murmurs reluctantly, heartbroken, "I-I promise."

Harley deflates, a exhale of relief escaping him just as the last worry in his mind did, lips twitching upwards, a wave of calm and acceptance washing over him. He runs his hand through Peter's hair once last time, brushing the bangs off of his face and scraping his scalp lightly as he does, just the way Peter likes it.

"I need you to do one more thing for me, okay?" Peter gaze flickers up to him warily, anxiously, and it breaks his heart even more than it already is, knowing what he has to do. Knowing what he has to say. "I need you to get up, walk out that door and to not look back. Can you do that for me?"

Peter's lip trembles, but he doesn't fight this time, all sense of fight, of anger or betrayal or drive gone from his body, leaving an empty carcass, a corpse just like those creatures outside. It aches, burns, crushes Harley to see him like this, but he knows he doesn't have much time left. He needs to do it, and he needs to do it soon. Peter nods once, and goes to stand, but Harley holds him back for a second, gathers all of his strength and lifts his head up to press a kiss, one last kiss, to chapped, bite marked lips. Peter hiccups into it, but kisses him back before Harley has to break it, collapsing back into the bed with a soft groan, eyes squeezed shut, his entire body feeling like its on fire.

He feels a shaking hand run against his forehead, the cool skin helping to ease Harley into a calmer state, before another featherweight kiss is pressed to his head, a few drops of liquid falling into his hair. "I love you so much," Peter whispers into his forehead, "I'll never forget you."

"...love you too," Harley forces out, feeling his body beginning to give in, feeling as his organ start to decay and his heart start to slow, as Peter begins to move away. "Forever and always."

There's a moment of silence, before Peter repeats it back, "Forever and always." and his soft, careful footsteps exit the room, a door shutting behind him.

Harley waits a few heartbeats, waits as long as he can muster through the pain, the agony of his body slowing to a stop, before grabbing the pistol he had placed beside him. He prays his friends, his family, have gotten out already, safe and sound. Alive.

He thinks of soft, hazelnut eyes, of curly, chestnut hair, of bright, sunny smiles and of warm, wispy laughter. Of nerdy science t-shirts, of days spend in the lab, of failed projects and experiments, and of the ones that succeeded. He thinks of building Legos, of doing math problems, of movie nights and pillow forts. He thinks of _Peter_, of Tony, of Abbie, of his mother and Pepper and everyone he's ever lost.

They'll be okay. Ned, Betty, _Peter_, all of them. They'll be okay.

He thinks of them all, smiles, and pulls the trigger.


End file.
